


And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest

by space_ally



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A teeny bit of angst, Can be read as gen, Comfort, Cuddling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Or romantic, Pining, Sleep Deprivation, introspective, no beta we die like men, prompt, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-14 22:47:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20608595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_ally/pseuds/space_ally
Summary: Sleep-drunk: When you're so sleepy you get honestCrowley hasn't slept in 4 days





	And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Justafewthingstosay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justafewthingstosay/gifts).

> Title from Shakespeare's Hamlet.
> 
> Huge thanks to Justafewthingstosay for the prompts that were: 
> 
> \- I haven’t slept in 4 days  
\- I’m too late  
\- Go to sleep
> 
> Also it's half past 3 am and I'm so very tired.
> 
> Enjoy!

Crowley didn’t need sleep. Technically. He was a demon after all and neither demons nor angels required human necessities like food, water or sleep. So maybe he enjoyed sleep. And maybe his body got accustomed to sleeping to the point he did actually need it. The day he found out he needed sleep, the demon felt like God was messing with him before he remembered that she had left him long ago.

He hadn’t slept in a day and felt it pulling on his nerves, the softest noises irritating him, his eyes burning and him being in a constant state of exhaustion. He figured out he could get rid of all of the symptoms and the weird moodswing they brought with them by actually going to sleep. He woke up ten hours later, awake and less moody. He was fascinated. And annoyed.

This time was different, however.   


Crowley hadn’t slept in four days. His eyes were bloodshot, there were deep circles under them that he was too tired to miracle away and the moodswing hit him without any warning. Because after 6000 years on earth, facing depression wasn’t much of a surprise but usually he was awake enough to reason his way around intrusive thoughts, pushing them down or, in the best case, getting rid of them for a while.   


He had reached the level of exhaustion on which he wasn’t able to get any rest even though he was  _ so tired _ . His heart was beating so fast in his chest, it hurt and his throat hurt with every gulp of water he drank, hoping it would make the pain go away.   


The demon groaned in frustration,  _ desperation _ and started walking restless circles around his flat, his vision blurring and his steps wonky, bumping into furniture along the way.   


All while his mind was screaming at him. Images of God flashing before his eyes. Images of his fall. Images of Aziraphale. Aziraphale turning away, leaving him. Too fast. He went too fast.   


Crowley’s heartbeat was too fast, he felt it in his throat when he broke down on his knees, gasping for air. He closed his eyes, fingers digging into his chest.   


It hurt. And there was no way to stop the pain since he couldn’t find sleep. Couldn’t find rest.   


Crowley pulled himself together, got up, leaning on every wall or piece of furniture he encountered on his way to the door of his flat. He stumbled down the staircase. The drive in the Bentley was a blur, his safe arrival and the safekeeping of any pedestrians he encountered more the car’s doing than his own, he was so out of it.

The demon fell against the door of Aziraphale’s bookshop but the door was locked. It took all the energy he had left in him to raise his hand and knock on the door, but he wasted the energy because no one opened. The angel wasn’t home.   


Crowley crumbled, tears of desperation spilling, running down his cheeks and the burning in his throat got even worse. He let himself slide down the door, sobbing quietly, eyes still burning, body still yearning for sleep.   


His mind was still screaming at him, screaming for Aziraphale, screaming about how he didn’t love him back, how he went away, how he finally left for good.   


Crowley started shaking, an irrational part of his brain wanted to wrap his own wings around himself but he wouldn’t have been able to stand the look of them, the dark colours, the witnesses of his fall, his fuck-up.   


“Am I too late?”

Crowley almost didn’t manage to come up with the energy to lift his head but there, against the sunlight, outshining the fucking sun stood the angel, the angel he wished he could call his angel but didn’t dare to because he went too fast, always too fast and he couldn’t take that anymore, couldn’t take another heartbreak.   


Crowley stared at Aziraphale and Aziraphale let himself down on his knees, extending a hand to brush a strand of hair out of the demon’s face. His touch was soft and light and Crowley’s breath hitched.   


“I’m sorry,” the demon slurred and fell forwards with Aziraphale catching him in his arms, pressing him to his chest tightly, their synchronised breathing calming Crowley’s heartbeat a little. Aziraphale held onto him tighter, so tight and he felt so safe, so secure, so warm and at home, there were more tears, hot and full of love and they got soaked up by the fabric of the angel’s coat.

Crowley couldn’t remember how long they sat there, hugging, breathing, not saying a word. He couldn’t remember how the angel managed to help him up, almost carrying him up the stairs to the bedroom, spreading a blanket over him, kissing his cheek. No, actually, he remembered the kiss and the butterflies.

“Go to sleep,” Aziraphale whispered taking the demon’s sunglasses off and setting them down on the bedside table. The demon’s eyes widened in shock, seeing how the angel prepared to leave the room and the silent plead in them didn’t go unnoticed. The blond smiled softly, took his sweet time taking his shoes off and the crawled under the blanket with the demon. He was laying on his side, facing the other man.   


His hand found its way into Crowley’s hair and he started combing through it absentmindedly.

“Rest. Sleep.”

Crowley didn’t want to close his burning eyes, clinging onto the blurry picture in front of him, Aziraphale, relaxed, so close, he only had to reach out to touch him. The angel pressed a kiss to his nose and the demon blushed.

“I’ll still be here when you wake up,” Aziraphale promised and Crowley’s vision went black.   


When he opened his eyes again, sun streaming through half-closed blinds kissed his face and blond hair tickled his nose. He let his eyes glide over the angel who was asleep, arms wrapped around his torso, head on his chest.   


The angel didn’t need sleep. Technically.   


“You weren’t too late,” Crowley whispered and closed his eyes again before drifting back into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments and kudos make my day, if you're looking for more of my writing, check out my other fics and you can always yell at/with me on twitter (@ajayalive). I'm always here for discussing ineffable idiots. Or Shakespeare.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> AJ


End file.
